


Rhorlak

by Lukra (49percentchanceofbees)



Category: Flight Rising
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-09-12 15:23:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16875327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/49percentchanceofbees/pseuds/Lukra
Summary: The grizzled old guardian Rhorlak discovers something new about himself when he joins Clan Lukra.





	Rhorlak

“Born in the Southern Icefield. Parents, out of the picture. Don’t know if they abandoned me or died. Went feral for a bit, then got picked up by this old warrior tundra. He trained me for a while before selling me to the arena. A gladiator. Was good at that – really good. So good they sold me on to the Scarred Wasteland. Bigger, nastier fights up there. Still made out all right. Didn’t see any of the money, though; owners took all that. Eventually, some other fighters rioted, and I escaped in the chaos. Not before settling some old scores, though. Figured I’d fight for my own money; became a mercenary. Lots of use for those up in Plague territory. Now, I’m just looking to settle down, find somewhere I don’t have to watch my back all the time.”

For a moment there was silence. Then the pearlcatcher with the cleaver chuckled. “Quite a story, big guy.”

“Indeed,” said the bejeweled pearlcatcher. The leader, so Rhorlak ought to make an effort to remember her name: Aridatha. She sounded like she wanted to say something else, but Rhorlak’s matter-of-fact tone – and intimidating appearance – forbade sympathy, and she decided against it. She had, however, taken notes.

They probably hadn’t expected his entire life story when they asked what brought him here, to their clan, but Rhorlak figured he might as well get it out of the way, save questions later.

The wildclaw spoke up. Lioska. Their general. He’d be working under her, if this went well. “Would you mind sparring with me, so I can evaluate your abilities?”

Rhorlak shrugged. “Fine. Nothing wrong with wanting to see what you’re paying for.”

They went outside. The ridges of pink crystal curving among the trees reminded Rhorlak of an arena. There were even spectators: half a dozen dragons gathered loosely around a clear area of grass to watch them fight. Though experience and pain had taught him not to get cocky, Rhorlak expected himself to do well. He had observed the clan’s defenses from both the outside and inside now, and thought he could have cut through them with nothing but his claws and teeth, if he’d so desired. Oh, they’d made efforts towards security, and their magic looked powerful, but physically, their guards had nothing on him. There didn’t even seem to be very many of them.

Lioska stood across the grass from Rhorlak, considering him with her head tilted in the birdlike way of wildclaws. “We’ll fight until one of us yields, or until Aridatha or I call a halt. We have a healer standing by, but the aim is to demonstrate skill, not to seriously wound each other – and your goal is to impress me, not to win. Feel free to pull your punches, and I will base my assessment on the damage they would have done otherwise.”

She took so much care in explaining this, speaking slowly and precisely, that Rhorlak wondered if she worried for her own hide. More likely, she’d looked at him and decided he wasn’t capable of understanding rules, or holding back. The dragons in the inn outside had looked at him the same way, especially the innkeeper: all deciding he was trouble. Rhorlak didn’t really mind that, as long as they wanted that trouble on their side.

“And … begin!” Aridatha sounded a bit nervous as she called the start of the fight.

Lioska circled Rhorlak, moving to the side of his scarred eye: pointless, since he saw perfectly fine through it, but she didn’t know that. Rhorlak moved his head as if trying to keep her in his good eye and circled away, trying to bait her into an attack that relied on that presumption of blindness, but she just waited, smart enough to realize that he wouldn’t’ve made it this far if he could be taken out by a quick strike to his nonexistent blind side. Instead, she darted suddenly onto his good side and leapt at his head, claws out. Instead of dodging, he twisted his head so that she met his horns rather than the fins she’d been aiming for. He shook his head, meaning to toss her away, but she hung on and twisted among his horns, back claws seeking again for his eyes.

She’d told him to pull his punches, but in that moment Rhorlak wondered distantly if she intended on doing the same. Wouldn’t matter; he didn’t intend to give her much chance to hurt him. Her claws scratched against his brow ridges, one hooking over the ridge, almost reaching his eye, but he twisted his neck and slammed his horns – and the wildclaw clinging on them – into the ground. At the last moment he remembered that he wasn’t supposed to hurt her and softened the blow, but she still went sprawling in the dirt.

As Rhorlak moved to press his advantage, raising a claw over her, Lioska called out, “Talise! Join me!” and rolled out of the way.

Rhorlak could have chased her, but instead he let her go and lifted his head to survey the arena, looking for a new threat. And here it came: the pearlcatcher with the cleaver joined the fray, dashing towards Rhorlak’s tail. Rhorlak spun and slammed his claws down just in front of the new enemy, in a move that would’ve broken Talise’s spine had it landed, though Talise jinked away quickly enough that even if Rhorlak had truly aimed for him, he might have escaped with a glancing hit.

Now Lioska came for Rhorlak’s back, but if she thought him unguarded there, she was sadly mistaken: he whipped his tail at her and kicked a back claw into the easiest spot for her to dodge to, forcing her back out of his range. Meanwhile, Talise took flight; Rhorlak twisted his neck to try to keep both his opponents in view as the pearlcatcher turned in tight circles over their informal arena. Talise dropped from the sky, aiming his cleaver for Talise’s backbone – a potentially crippling attack. Had he forgotten that this was supposed to be a sparring match? Again, Rhorlak didn’t care. If he let any attacks land, he deserved the pain that came with them: his mentor had hammered in that lesson without ever telling Rhorlak his name. Maybe he’d never had one.

Talise’s cleaver tore into Rhorlak’s skin, but it caught on the spines along his back and failed to leave more than a shallow cut – and as soon as blood started to drip down Rhorlak’s side, Aridatha called, “Enough! Talise, this was to be a sparring match, not a bloodbath.”

Plainly, Aridatha had never seen an actual bloodbath, if she’d apply the word to the trickle currently running down Rhorlak’s scales.

“My bad,” Talise responded, lifting his cleaver and running his claws along it to wick off Rhorlak’s blood – without apparently caring that this only transferred the blood to his claws. Rhorlak glanced sidelong at the pearlcatcher. He’d seen dragons like Talise before: drawn to violence, projecting an air of danger, enjoying the reactions of those around them – Shade, Rhorlak himself fit the first two criteria. Some of these dragons were dangerous and others were just posturing. Rhorlak wasn’t sure yet which category Talise fell into, but in a quiet clan like this, he probably wasn’t too hardened. Still, best be wary.

As Talise glided down from Rhorlak’s back, Lioska stepped up to Rhorlak, frowning. “I apologize for your injury, Rhorlak. I did not intend for anyone to get hurt today. Our healer will treat you, of course.”

Rhorlak dipped his head. An odd sensation touched his chest at Lioska’s words, a slight tension; he ignored it. “It’s nothing. I’ve had far worse.”

“I know,” Lioska said, looking at his scars. “While I applaud your stoicism, we’ll still have a healer look at it, unless you have objections to being healed.”

“None, general.”

“You can call me Lioska,” the wildclaw added as she turned away. “We don’t have much use for titles here.”

Rhorlak nodded, slightly pleased. He’d always had trouble keeping titles straight in his head; much simpler to just call everyone by name.

As Lioska walked over to Aridatha, one of the audience came to Rhorlak’s side, a purple tundra in a shining glamor, gossamer shawl drifting around her.

“Hello,” she said, her voice friendly. “My name is Nesita: I’m the clan healer. May I take a look at your wound?”

“People don’t usually ask,” Rhorlak murmured, lowering his body so that the smaller tundra could look at his back. He felt that tightness in his chest again. It was a sensation that he’d experienced a few times before, though he wasn’t sure what triggered it. As it didn’t really threaten him, he’d learned to ignore it. Still, it was odd that he’d felt it twice in such quick succession.

“They should.” Nesita wasn’t like the arena healers, who were hired to work cheap and fast, without regard for their patients’ pain or feelings – and leave impressive scars. Nesita’s claws were gentle and careful; her magic numbed Rhorlak’s pain immediately, and then she took her time cleaning and checking over the wound before closing it with a cool rush of magic.

It was the first time in Rhorlak’s life that anyone had bothered calling a healer for a wound so small, let alone a healer so skilled and interested in his comfort. The feeling in his chest intensified, spread to his head in a rush. Instinctively, he knew what this was: a guardian’s drive to find their Charge. Not something he’d ever thought about much, considering that he’d spent most of his life not knowing if he would die the next day. Now, as Nesita worked, he regarded the idea with indifferent confusion. He did not particularly want a Charge – if he were going to fight to protect something, he’d rather get paid. Secondly, he still wasn’t sure what exactly his instincts were trying to point to as his Charge. Nesita?

No: the tundra finished, smiled at Rhorlak, and bid him farewell, and while her smile sent a twitch down his tail, he felt no urge to follow her. Rhorlak almost wanted to see her walk into danger, to make sure he wasn’t bound to protect her, but if he endangered her he would lose his place in this clan, and he didn’t want that. Perhaps Clan Lukra itself was his Charge? But he’d felt nothing on first entering the clan’s lands or on walking into its Inner Sanctum. Even now, when he contemplated the idea of leaving, it didn’t panic him. He had only a rational desire to stay and explore his Charge instincts in the environment in which they’d first arisen. Whatever his Charge was, he should stick around until he figured it out. Maybe talk to the clan’s other guardians – he hadn’t met that many growing up, not till he went to the arena, and most of the guardians there were not interested in discussing Charges. But, at the same time, Rhorlak did not want to let on to anyone that he suspected his Charge was here. If anyone else knew what he was bound to, got to it before he did, they could use that to goad and control him, and Rhorlak had spent enough time as a slave. Instinct or no instinct, he would not allow it to happen again.


End file.
